On Angels' Wings
by Glo 'La Phantomess
Summary: A heartbroken Erik refuses to be the Angel of Music. But one night, he saves a girl. She's convinced he's an angel sent from above and she's determined to convince him too. Can she show Erik to love again? Will Erik ever get his wings back?
1. A Fallen Angel

_This fan fiction is mainly based on the 2004 Phantom of the Opera movie. Of course, the name Erik is from the book, but I doubt there will be very little other references to the wonderful novel. I do intent for Erik to resemble Gerard Butler one hundred percent because he is the most gorgeous thing I have ever laid eyes on. After watching the movie I felt much too sad that Erik would have to stay alone and live without love, so I decided to fix that. _

_I would like to clarify a few things. Cielle is a variation of the French name Ciel, meaning sky. I just thought the name would be appropriate, considering the title of the story. She is French, but unlike the phantom, she has a noticeable accent. _

_I do know a bit of French so I will be incorporating a little here and there. I will try my best to not make it too difficult to read and if it is, feel free to inform me so I can change or translate as soon as possible._

_I think it's only fair to warn you ahead of time that later chapters will be graphic. I can't tell you much now since that would ruin everything, including my ever confusing twists and turns of the story. _

_I will try to update often though I must admit that my updating will depend on the demand and popularity of the story. The more reviews, the more chapters. The better the reviews, the faster the updates._

_**Please review**. I appreciate constructive criticism. No one is absolutely perfect, but I **will **try my best to correct every single mistake. Feel free to offer your opinion and your comments. I welcome them. _

_Thank you very much for your understanding and your patience. So, without further ado, Je presente la oeuvre de fiction "Sur les Ailes d'Anges"_

Disclaimer I do not own Phantom of the Opera, even though I wish I did. I could hug Gerard to death all day! But, sadly, credit for the phantom goes to Andrew Lloyd Webber and the overall credit for the entirety of Phantom goes to Gaston Leroux. Cielle and characters related to her are the only ones I can truly take credit for.

_**On Angels' Wings:**_

_**Part 1: Looking Beyond the Mask, Beyond the Monster**_

_Chapter One_

_A Fallen Angel_

He didn't know just how long he had been sitting there, staring across the river. He just couldn't believe that the one time he had actually opened up to someone, she had betrayed him bitterly. She had absolutely no regard for his feelings. Her only motive in kissing him had been to free Raoul.

He was no fool. He knew that forcing Christine to stay with him would cause them both pain, no matter how much he loved her, or rather, worshiped her. She would constantly lament over the loss of her rich lover, fine horses and all. All he had ever wanted was to make her happy. All he had ever wanted was to feel that she loved him. But she never had.

Growing up, the only comfort to his lonely life had been reading. He had read countless novels and epic literature that gave him knowledge and meaning to life. That was, of course, until he discovered music. In all his infamous literature, there were heroes, shunned by the outside world that fought endlessly in the name of love. Those were his favorite. But, as it turned out, it was fiction and he wasn't exactly a dashing, handsome hero. _You're quite the opposite really,_ he thought to himself bitterly. _You're a disgusting monster. A murderer._

The scene replayed time and time again in his mind. The way Christine had looked at him, eyes full of hated. He was much too angry too care. He had a very explosive temper. When she kissed him, it was heaven for him. Never had he felt such emotion within his body and soul.

But when they pulled apart, he looked into Christine's eyes. _Those eyes, _he thought to himself, remembering the desperate, tear-filled orbs. They were full of pain, anguish, and fear. He could think of the many ways her imagination began to wander, with nothing but the dark fate she had chosen. _I cannot do this, _he had thought and kissed her one final time, his own way of saying farewell. _I love you too much to cause you such pain. _He had yelled and demanded for the young lovers to leave from his sight.

And they had done just that. He remembered so vividly how she looked back at him. Her beautiful form getting smaller, farther with each passing second. She was disappearing, dissolving into the darkness, never to return to him. _Why would she want to return to a monster?_

He had successfully ignored the growling of his stomach until it pained him. He had successfully ignored the dry taste in his mouth until the only thing he could think of was her sweet kisses. He had successfully put aside the fatigue until it began to overcome him.

Alas, he gave up looking out into the emptiness. It was just a reminder of what he had lost. Exhausted, he rose from where he sat and began to compose. From his pain would come creation. He would continue to live the way he had before Christine. Alone.

Only a few moments later, a very unexpected scream echoed throughout the caves, causing him to sit upright and listen.

"No! Please," he could hear sobs and the sound was moving toward him.

Instinctively, he stood quickly grabbed his cloak and his sword running toward the direction of the sobs. He ran faster, not even sure why, every now and again going into the lake to cross to the other side. The underground passage was indeed underneath the opera house, but it was extremely vast. He suspected that it ran through most of Paris, if not all of it. But, it did not matter. Spending so much of his life down in this place, he knew his way around very well.

The sobs were getting louder and he could soon hear footsteps. He continued on, curious as to who had been disturbing his creative endeavors.

"Stupid girl," he heard a male voice shout, "you cannot escape me."

A second scream echoed loudly, coming from his right and he turned, not prepared for the sight that met his eyes.

There stood a man of medium stature dressed from head to toe in dark purple robes. His identity concealed by a black mask that covered his entire face. His robes were much too long for him, for the bottom was stained with dirt and mud from being dragged across the dirty tunnels, and the sleeves concealed his arms and hands.

He had cornered someone, without no doubt a woman. _The screams were coming from her, _he thought to himself.

Quietly, the phantom crept closer, remaining in the shadows. He was very adept at remaining invisible. He was, after all, a ghost. _A monster, _his conscience corrected him.

Upon closer inspection, he could tell that the victim was very young. She was no girl. That he could tell for certain. Even from where he stood, he could tell that her body was, to say the least, developed. But, the fear-filled features on her face were nowhere near that of mature womanhood. She couldn't possibly be a day older than twenty years of age.

"Please," she begged as her captor drew nearer.

"You ran from us," a harsh voice replied. "You _will _pay the price."

"No," she whispered quietly.

Unexpectedly, the purple- robed man pinned her against the wall.

The girl reacted with a pained gasp and began to whimper, as if she knew what fate awaited her.

"Since you're being this way, you put me in a very precarious situation."

She did not respond.

"I'll have to punish you once myself," he said, roughly thrusting his lower body into hers.

The phantom watched from where he stood, indecisive of whether he should interfere or not.

The girl began to sob uncontrollably.

"And you do know that they will punish you again upon our return." The man's voice was filled with perverted malice.

She continued to sob, obviously attempting to calm herself.

"Stop that," he commanded her raising one of the long sleeves, exposing his hand. Seconds later, the back of his hand collided with the side of her face, causing her to whimper more. "You're only bringing a harsher punishment upon yourself."

"Is that so?" By the time he realized that he had spoken his thoughts aloud, it was too late for him to disappear into the shadows. The purple-robed man turned immediately to face the source of the voice.

"Who's there? What do you want?"

"How amusing," he gave a small chuckle, "I was wondering the same thing myself. I was minding my own business, deep within my work, and I heard this unbearable racket and decided it must come to an end."

"Who are you? Reveal yourself!"

"To a stranger? I think not. Who are you?"

"It matters not." He suddenly grabbed the girl's arm, his purple robes shifting ever-so-slightly. "We were just leaving."

"No, my good sir, I believe _you _will be the only one leaving."

"I am certainly not leaving without the girl."

The phantom drew his sword, wondering why on earth saving this one soul mattered so much to him. "If you intend on leaving alive, I suggest you leave alone."

His opponent released his grasp on the girl's arm and, having no weapon, took several steps backward. Moments later he turned and began running, his long robes billowing behind him.

The girl looked at her savior, regarding him, not sure of what to do next. "_Merci_," she whispered, "_Merci beaucoup_. Thank you very much."

With no answer, he stepped out of the dim light and took several steps toward her. Without a word, he reached for the hood of his cloak and removed it.

"_Le Fantôme,"_ she gasped, "You're the Phantom of the Opera."

"Yes, yes," he rolled his eyes in exasperation

"I'm very sorry," she quickly replied, "I don't mean to be so rude. I am very grateful."

He rolled his eyes again. "Your name?"

She bit her lip. "If I tell you, will you tell anyone?"

"Oh yes, I will most certainly inform all of my closest friends and all of Paris, revealing my identity when I am wanted for murder just to tell them the name of a girl who happened to be wandering near my lair."

She swallowed hard. "It's just," she trailed off

"Yes?" he was getting extremely tired of waiting for her reply

"Certain people will be looking for me," she said worried

"I do not socialize much," he stated, tiring of this insignificant girl, "In fact, I usually don't go around saving lives either."

"My name is Cielle," she whispered

He took this moment to study her, taking in every detail about her. She was a beautiful girl who was about half a head smaller than him. Her eyes were a dark, mysterious brown color that stood out against her olive complexion. Her hair was either red or brown. The color was so close to both of the colors that it was hard to tell. It was wavy and ran half the length of her small back. She was thin, but curvaceous nonetheless.

"These tunnels are no place for a girl like you, Cielle," he said as he saw that her knees were shaking, threatening to give out.

"It's where they brought me," she said quietly, "and when I got the chance, I ran as fast as I could."

"I should probably lead you out of here. Your family will no doubt miss your presence."

"I have no family," she said, her voice almost inaudibly. "My mother died giving birth to me and her family would have nothing to do with me or my father. He was disowned at birth, and raised me, but he changed as soon as I turned eleven."

"Why?" he couldn't believe just how curious he was to know about this girl.

"_Je ne sais pas_," she shrugged. "He, well -- let's just say I don't really have anywhere to go right now."

They were silent for several moments.

"Do you have a name?" she asked him, breaking the silence.

"I'm the phantom," he said plainly.

"Surely you have a name," Cielle pressed on

He sighed. "Erik," he looked away. "My name is Erik." He could not believe that only within moments of meeting her acquaintance, he told her his name. It had been so long since he had uttered the mere word, but even longer since he had introduced himself using his given name.

"It's a very nice name," she smiled wearily.

He noted that her knees had not stopped trembling. Seconds later, she began to blink furiously and, without warning, her body began to fall. He quickly reacted and caught her before she hit the ground. In one swift movement, he lifted her body into his arms.

Instantly, the memory of holding his beloved Christine filled his mind. Sighing, he shook his head, willing them to go away and began his journey toward his chambers.

It wasn't a very long walk, but it took him longer to return considering that he was carrying Cielle in his arms, being careful not to wake her. He couldn't even seem to remember when he started to care. _You don't care. You still love Christine. You'll always love Christine. _

Tried as he did, he could not stop the thoughts from filling his mind on his way back. The simplest thought grew out in branches and expanded into so many different thoughts. He began remembering little things he would not have usually remembered.

Trying to clear his mind, he looked down at the peacefully sleeping Cielle in his arms. She truly was beautiful. _Compared to you, anything looks beautiful. _He inwardly cursed himself for even allowing these thoughts cross his mind.

When he finally arrived, he was overcome with relief and fatigue. But, there was another problem to attend to. Where on earth was Cielle going to sleep?

He wasn't exactly used to having anyone visit him to say the least and he most certainly did not have a guest room for her to rest in. There was only one solution. Sighing he continued on, climbing up the stone stairs to his bedroom.

The peacock shaped bed with red velvet cushioning looked extremely welcoming, considering that he hadn't slept for days. _Not since Christine abandoned me, _he thought bitterly. But, feeling the weight of his arms, he knew he would go another night without his bed.

He walked over to the bed and lowered her onto the cushioned bed as gently as he could. He stood up straight and looked down at the sight. _There's room on the other side, _his mind rang tempting him, but the thought passed as quickly as it came.

Instead, he turned his attention to Cielle. She looked peaceful, and it was clear that the sleep was long overdue. He took notice of her apparel then. With everything that had passed, her clothes had been the last thing on his mind, but now, he couldn't help but notice.

Her skirt was white, torn in various places, and was falling apart. She wore flat shoes that were shaped like those of a ballerina, but they had no ribbons. Those were white as well. Her top was pink rose colored shaped like a corset. There were no strings or places to tie them, however. Unlike her other clothes, the top was undamaged and seemed to perfectly fit her body.

He shook his head at his last thought and tore his gaze away from his guests. He turned to leave and proceeded to walk to his mannequin of Christine. It was the closest thing he had to her. And for that reason, he needed to get rid of it.

Sadly, Erik gathered every last drawing and every last doll that resembled or had been made for Christine. He disposed of them, taking them far into the tunnels and lit a fire. He stood there for a long time, watching until every last item burned to ashes.

_I will let go, _Erik thought to himself, determined. _I will move on, but how?_

When he returned, he was surprised to see how empty his quarters seemed. He was also surprised to see Cielle sitting in front of his organ looking intently at the sheet music.

"You were gone for quite some time," she said softly

"I had to dispose of a few belongings," he replied curtly

"Why?"

"They reminded me of someone I lost." He was surprised at just how easily he told this girl what was on his mind without even thinking. "Someone very special."

"Did you love her?"

"I worshipped her," he sighed

"What happened?"

"Must you ask?" he said with a frustrated sigh

She looked at him, confusion in her eyes. "I don't--"

"Even if it wasn't the phantom part that led to her ultimate decision, these quarters aren't exactly appealing to be spending the rest of your life in! Especially not when a rich vicomte is trying too woo her. She was bound to choose the fine horses, the fine clothes, and the handsome man."

Cielle remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Yes, she was bound to choose that instead of the murders, hand-me-downs from the opera storage, damp lair, and the repulsive monster."

"I don't see a repulsive monster…" she said cautiously

Without warning her, he tore his white half mask from his face, exposing the deformed, scarred skin.

Her demeanor hadn't changed at all. She hadn't screamed, jumped back, or made a face. Her expression remained one of confusion and her eyes met his determinedly.

"Do you not understand now?"

She shook her head. "I see nothing repulsive or in the least bit ugly in front of me."

"Are you blind then?" he asked impatiently

She shook her head. "I think it's you who is blind."

She stood up and walked to him. Cautiously, she raised her hand to his face and ran her fingers over the scarred skin.

"Your skin is very soft," she said to him with a small smile.

He pulled away from her. The last thing he wanted was to be touched by anyone.

"You could not possibly understand me," he said looking at her, "You are just a girl."

"I am nineteen," she defended herself defiantly. "And you could at least let me _try _to understand you."

"Why? It's not like you'll be staying long." he said bitterly

"Oh," she replied taken aback. "I'm sorry, I didn't know my presence…" she trailed off at a loss of words, looking hurt.

He cursed himself. He had hurt her feelings. When did he care about hurting others? He shook the thought from his mind. "What I meant to say," he said cautiously, "is that this place is gloomy, unwelcoming, and despicable. Most don't wish to stay long. I presumed you would share the same sentiments as other visitors have shown."

"If you want me to leave, then I can just go now. All you have to do is tell me."

A quiet desperation overcame him. He didn't want her to leave. In fact, even if he wouldn't admit it, he was starting to enjoy her company. The rooms seemed so lonely, so cold, and he never had anyone to talk to. Even if they hadn't spoken much, it was a very nice improvement from his usual social behavior. _From killing to small talk. Seems to work better. _

She watched him quietly, awaiting his response.

"It would not be wise for you to go into the tunnels. Did you not say they were looking for you? If I let you leave here, and they do find you after all, then what was my purpose in bringing you here," he sighed. "I will not hold you here against your will, but I believe you will be safe in this area of the underground."

She smiled. "So I can stay with you?"

"You may seek shelter, protection, nutrition and all else you require here, yes. Seeing as you have no where else to go of course. Feel free to remain as long as you like." He sighed again

"As long as I like?" she asked, "Really?"

He nodded.

"Well, then," she said, "Does that mean I can call you by your first name?"

"How else would you address me?" he raised an eyebrow at her

"Monsieur, Phantom, Sir, …"

"Erik will do."

She smiled. "And I expect you to call me Cielle."

He nodded, exhausted. Moments later, he was not able to stand so he sat on the floor and laid his head on the ground. "Cielle, I trust you know your way to the bed. Good night." With that he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

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This is my first chapter. Hooray for me! Anyways thanks for reading. Please review. Lots of love!


	2. Fourteen Angels

_On Angels' Wings_

_Chapter Two_

_Fourteen Angels_

Erik awoke several hours later, feeling rather uncomfortable. His back was aching. His head hurt like hell. _I am in hell, _he reminded himself. Not feeling like greeting the day, he kept his eyes closed willing sleep to come to him again. But, as always, his body had other plans.

His head began to pound profusely, offering him absolutely no mercy. He brought his hands to his temples and began to rub them. When that did nothing, he gave up and laid his hands at his sides once more.

The surface under his touch felt harsh, cold, and flat. Confused, he forced his eyes open.

"Perhaps it would help your headache if you got up from the floor," a voice said

He turned his head to his right where he had heard the comment come from. His eyes met a torn, white skirt and a pair of olive colored legs that were crossed. He allowed his eyes to travel upward. They traveled past the pink rose colored top, past the olive complected neck until they met a pair of dark, mysterious eyes.

"Good morning," Cielle smiled, "Well, I think it's morning. There's no real way to tell down here, is there?"

Erik groaned as his head continued to hurt. His temples were threatening to break away from his head and run off into the darkness.

Cielle cocked her head to one side. "You fell asleep on the floor. I tried to wake you, but you wouldn't budge."

He looked at her blankly.

"And I certainly wasn't able to carry you."

Without responding, Erik tried to sit up. His attempts were fruitless, however. His strength was completely drained. Defeated, he lay back down on the ground. He closed his eyes once more

"Do you need help?" Cielle asked him

Erik opened his eyes. Didn't she see he was trying to rest?

Despite his efforts, Cielle didn't seem to mind his silence. She stood up and offered her both her hands.

Erik's hands felt heavy as he lifted them and took hers in his own. With a force that surprised Erik, she helped him up off the ground and on his feet.

He immediately felt dizzy and lightheaded. Still holding his hands, Cielle pulled one of his arms around her shoulder.

"This way," she commanded gently, leading him towards his bedroom.

He staggered, still exhausted from the lack of sleep the past few… Erik suddenly realized he wasn't sure how much time had passed by. It had felt like years. No, that couldn't possibly right. Months maybe? Weeks? Days?

"Almost there," Cielle said encouragingly, forcing Erik from his thoughts back into reality

She finally managed to get him up the stone steps, into the room, and led him to the peacock bed. She let his arm fall to his side.

Erik tried to sit, not realizing that he was about to sit on nothing, falling to the ground again.

"No, this way," Cielle said, grabbing his hand in hers and leading him until he was seated on his bed

When she let go, he sat there. His head hurt so much that it had confused him completely. He was in a daze.

"You should rest," she said," You look tired."

He sat there without moving, looking into thin air.

Sighing, Cielle grabbed his legs and managed to put them on the bed. Erik still sat up, looking straight ahead. She gently put both hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently down until he was lying down.

Erik gazed at Cielle as she pushed him down. Time seemed to last forever as she hovered above him. _Maybe if I wasn't so tired then she'd be helping me lay down on the bed for an entirely different reason, _he thought vaguely staring blankly at her face. Realization dawning on him, he blushed. _I must be extremely exhausted._

"Are you feeling alright?" Cielle asked kneeling next to the bed and placing her hand on Erik's forehead and running it down his face. "You're red. What if you're getting a fever? I wouldn't know what to do…"

Erik watched her as she trailed off. "I'll be fine. I'm always fine." _Unfortunately, I haven't caught anything fatal enough to kill me and end the misery._

"Well," she said, "you should probably get some rest then."

"Honestly, now that I'm comfortable, I feel restless." He chuckled. _Where did that come from? _Erik _never_ smiled, _never_ laughed and he most certainly _never_ chuckled.

Cielle smiled at him. "Do you need a lullaby?" she teased.

"I don't know if a lullaby coming from you would put me to sleep or split my eardrums," Erik responded.

Cielle raised her eyebrow in response. "Well, then," she said, "I guess I'll just have to leave you here to your restlessness." She stood up and began to walk away.

As he watched her nearing the stone steps, he felt a sense of emptiness. He suddenly felt abandoned and lonelier than he had ever been in his entire life. And Erik had experienced his fair share of loneliness. "Wait!" he called desperately.

Cielle turned to face him, right eyebrow raised, and a smirk across her face. "Yes?"

"A lullaby couldn't hurt, could it?"

She looked at him for a few moments.

Cielle must have sensed his loneliness, his emptiness after spending so much of his life on his own. He had lost the only woman he ever loved and his heart was a mess. As she looked into his eyes, he was certain that she must see right through him.

"If you insist," she smiled at him warmly. Cielle walked to the other side of the bed and sat down next to Erik.

He couldn't understand why this girl fascinated him. It was a fact that Cielle was beautiful, but so were so many other girls in Paris. She captivated him, and possibly even infatuated him. _No, that's not possible, _he thought, _and even if it was so, she could never love a monster._

"When I was little," Cielle said, forcing him from his reverie, "my father took me to the opera. I don't remember very much. I don't remember the opera we saw. I only remember that I loved it and I happened to remember one of the songs. I hummed myself to sleep every night with it."

Erik nodded, hanging on to her every word.

"_When at night I go to sleep_

_Fourteen angels watch to keep_

_Two my head are guarding_

_Two my feet are guiding_

_Two are on my right hand_

_Two are on my left hand _

_Two who warmly cover_

_Two who o'er me hover_

_Two to whom 'tis giver to guide_

_My steps to heaven" _

Erik was stunned. Her voice was crystal clear. It was purely angelic. "Engelbert Humperdinck's _Hansel and Gretel_," Erik stated, hardly able to breathe, "the Evening Prayer."

Cielle shrugged. "I don't know really. I just remember that piece."

"Sing again," Erik whispered to her, "please."

Cielle smiled and sang her song again for him.

Erik was in awe. He was in love with her voice. _So pure, so innocent, so angelic, _he thought. _A voice like that would certainly beautify my music in a way I never imagined before._

Cielle continued to sing, going over the same lyrics over and over again. But Erik didn't care. He held on to her voice, wishing she wouldn't stop.

But, alas, he finally felt the fatigue returning. Erik tried to stay awake, to hear her voice. Nevertheless, he eventually started drifting off to sleep, comfortable in his peacock bed, Cielle's angelic voice lulling him to sleep. For the first time since Christine had left him, he was content, and with that final thought, he finally fell to sleep.

Erik awoke, feeling thoroughly rested. He sat up, glad to find that his temples had stopped throbbing. When he stood up, he discovered the lightheaded feeling had abandoned him completely. He walked over to his armoire and pulled another one of the many white shirts he owned.

Erik pulled his shirt over his head, grimacing as he looked in the mirror. There were scars covering his chest and back, mostly from his childhood, when his parents had beaten him for his ugliness and, after he had run away from home, when the gypsies had whipped him incessantly, before he had made the opera house his home.

Shaking his head, he grabbed a shirt, put over his shoulders and made a move to button it up.

"I'm sorry," a voice said from behind him.

He looked in the mirror first, seeing Cielle backing away from the entryway, her face red. Unable to help himself, he turned to face her.

Cielle was carrying a small tray with crackers and bread. "I found some food, and I thought that maybe you might be hungry."

"I am not," he said simply, continuing to buttoning up his shirt.

"Are you sure?"

"I do not eat." Erik stated simply

"I can see that," Cielle said indignantly, "But, I will not stand here and let you starve yourself."

"Food is just a pleasure, not a necessity."

"Of course it's a necessity!"

"Only when you're starving," Erik said stubbornly.

"Well," Cielle challenged him, "if you won't eat willingly, I am going to have to feed you."

"Since when did you become my mother?"

"Since right now," Cielle said walking up to him.

Erik raised his eyebrow at her. It was comical to see her trying to intimidate him when she was considerably thinner than him and slightly shorter than him.

Cielle raised a piece of bread and placed it in front of his mouth. "Open," she commanded.

"No," Erik said, "I will do no such—"

Erik was caught off guard as Cielle shoved the piece of bread into his mouth. She was smirking at him as he glared at her, seriously considering whether or not he should spit the bread back at her.

He decided against it and chewed the piece of bread slowly and swallowed. "Happy?" he asked her

"Not yet," Cielle said to him, picking up another piece of bread and holding it out to him.

Sighing, he took the loaf of bread and sat on his bed. He ate and Cielle watched, one hand on her hip, until he was completely finished with the bread.

When he finished, she turned and left, saying nothing as she did so.

Erik shook his head. "Now I know why so many complain about having mothers." Suddenly realizing that his shirt was still open, he buttoned it up and left the room.

He stopped at the bottom of the small staircase when he saw the girl. She was by his piano, looking over the delicate pages of his music. It was intriguing to see the way she scrutinized the papers. Then, she ran her fingers over once of the pages.

With his eyes still on her, he walked over to where she stood. She didn't notice, and he placed his hand on her shoulder.

Startled, she jumped and turned her head to face him. "I didn't see you there," she whispered

"I notice that," Erik replied dropping his hand. He then walked away from her and grabbed his cloak. "I'll be gone today. If you stay here, you will be safe. No one comes to these parts."

Without another word, he walked into the tunnels.


	3. Un Soir de Paris

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Phantom of the Opera. Unfortunately for all of you, I do own Gerard's heart  and he owns mine! Yes, we're deeply in love and I'm not crazy! Ok, maybe just a little crazy. A couple friends and I actually celebrated his birthday on the 13th. That's when I wanted to post this chapter but as you can see, I never got around to doing that. I'm sorry about that. Anyways, the brilliance and the credit for most characters belong to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. The beauty is Gerard's doing. Only Cielle and the plot line belong to me… so far.

On Angels' Wings

_Chapter Three_

_Un Soir de Paris_

As Erik walked out of his lair, his mind raced. He didn't quite understand his reaction to this girl. How dare she touch his music? They were his most intimate possessions.

_Stupid girl_, he thought to himself angrily. He stopped suddenly. He was so angry that he could hear his footsteps echoing through the tunnels. He was always careful and quiet. His footsteps never echoed.

Erik took several deep breaths and kept walking. It would be okay. He would deal with his emotions later. There was other business to take care of first.

Erik continued to walk, without the echoing footsteps. As he neared the tunnel that led to the opera house, his heart began to race. He could feel his head pounding and his throat drying.

Finally, after a considerable amount of time, he reached the mirror. He looked through, not knowing what to expect.

Then, he saw her. She was standing in front of the vanity in all her beauty. Her long curly hair draped down, framing her face. Her delicate form was accentuated by dress she wore.

It was a red dress that hung snugly to her body and falling to the floor. He could tell she had a miniature petticoat underneath to add some volume from the waist to her knees.

There was a longing in his heart, a longing that was stronger than he had felt in the time that had past since he had lost his beloved angel.

For a moment, Erik considered turning and running back down the tunnel. But he knew that he would have to do this. Ever so cautiously and silently, he pulled the mirror aside and stepped into the room.

She didn't notice, but continued to fix her hair. She was patiently taking a single curl at a time and setting it in place with hairpins.

He stood still for a moment and began to sing to her:

"I gave you my music

Made your song take wing

And now, how you've repaid

Denied me, and betrayed me…"

She paused, obviously hearing his voice. "It's you . . ."

"Have you forgotten your angel?" he sang in response.

"Never…" she responded softly

"I have not come for the reasons that you may think," Erik said to her.

"Why have you come then?" Christine asked, "Surely you have heard . . ."

"Heard of what?"

"If you do not know, then it does not matter."

"Very well," Erik sighed.

A long and awkward silence followed.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Christine said.

"I wish I could say," he whispered, "It feels like it has been a long time."

"It has been," Christine stated simply. "Why have you come?"

"I wish I could say," he repeated. "I – was"

He watched as she tilted her head to one side, regarding him silently.

"I don't know why I came. I needed to be away from –"

"I understand. It seems very gloomy down there."

"No doubt the richness and the fineness of the Vicomte's house are much more appealing," he said scathingly.

"It is." Christine stated simply, "If only everything else was."

"What?" Erik sighed, "Are the horses not fine enough?"

"That is not fair," Christine said with frustration in her voice.

"Of course it isn't," he mocked

"You are only angry because of Raoul. It's not like I protested that much to staying!"

"Of course you didn't," Erik said. "You really think that I wanted to keep you there if I knew that you didn't love me?"

"Excuse me," Christine said, "I didn't think you cared that much."

Erik shook his head.

"You are the one who sent me away, remember?"

"This isn't what I came for," he said, "That much I know."

"Then why?"

"Just to talk," he said, "but not like this."

"I hold nothing against you and your decisions." Erik said cautiously. "I want you to know that."

Christine nodded.

"I only need a change in environment. I am somewhat frustrated. I'm not used to charity work."

"Charity work?"

"It's a long story."

"I have time."

"Forgive me for recognizing your lack of skill in lying, but it would seem that I am keeping you from getting ready." Erik sighed. "Do you mind if I stay in your dressing room for a while just to clear my head until you return?"

"I won't be returning until morning," Christine said.

"You won't?"

"I don't live here any more."

"Oh yes," Erik said, "You've married that slave of fashion, haven't you?"

"We've been married for almost a year now."

"It has been a long time then," Erik said

"It has," Christine replied. "Feel free to stay as long as you like, but I suggest you be careful. There are others who have keys to this room."

"Thank you, Christine."

"You're very welcome," she replied.

Erik watched as she walked to the door and as she reached her hand to open it.

"I don't suppose—" she began.

"Yes?"

"When met all those months ago, you didn't tell me your name… or whether or not you had one for that matter."

"Erik," he said.

She blinked.

"My name is Erik," he said with a sigh.

"Nice to—in a way—meet you, Erik," Christine said, nodding her head slightly.

Erik's head spun. The love of his life walked away from him. _Again…_

_No_, he thought. _You don't love her, remember? She's a figment of the past. You have to move on. And you have to do it quickly…_

Sadly, he sat on one of the couches in the dressing room, thinking and pondering for a long period of time. He couldn't really sort out everything going through his mind. He really had no idea what to do about Cielle. She couldn't possibly stay there forever.

But, he was enjoying her company. And it seemed she was enjoying him. Yet, as everyone before her, Erik knew she would eventually tire of the gloomy underground. More importantly, she would tire of the monster living there.

Something definitely had to be done about that skirt. It was old, torn and frayed. He could imagine she was tired of that.

Quietly, he moved to the dressing room armoire and began to look through the costumes. Most were too elaborate, too dressy, too old fashion, or too ridiculous. There were a few dresses left over from _Hannibal_, _Don Juan_, and one that Erik guessed had been for an opera having to do with an ancient civilization of some sort.

Finding nothing, he moved to a chest of drawers. He opened the top drawer, closing it up quickly after discovering what lay inside. Very cautiously, he opened the second drawer. Seeing blouses, he went through each. Most were made of delicate fabrics. He knew for a fact that they would be ruined by the conditions inside the lair.

He went through drawer after drawer, only to be disappointed by the selections available. As quietly as he could, he opened the door to the dressing room and slipped outside. Seeing no one, he quickly made his way through the halls and exited through the back door onto the streets of Paris.

It was late and there were no crowds and no people. It was just the way he liked it. He made his way down the street until he passed a clothing shop. In the display window was a seemingly plain white dress. It was long and appeared to be made of durable fabric.

Interested, he placed his face closer to the window. He could see a faintly stitched pattern. _Perfect_, he thought.

Erik made his way to the back door of the shop and reached into his coat pocket. He found a small knife that he always carried with him in case of danger. As quick as he could, he put the tip into the lock and worked the lock until the door opened.

Upon entering, he found a bag with pull strings, deciding to take it in case he found more than one item to take with him. He swung it over his shoulder and decided to work front to back, looking through each item thoroughly.

He took the white dress of the mannequin, finding the same dress in blue, black, and red on hangers nearby. He placed all four in the bag. Deciding to take advantage of the situation, he walked over to the fine, more expensive clothing.

He picked out a black velvet skirt that made his skin melt to the touch. There was a red and black silk dress on the back hanger that captivated him, so he took that as well. Not knowing Cielle's preference on style, he took all kinds of blouses for her since they took up less room in his bag.

He knew very well that Cielle would need suitable clothes to sleep in, so he took a sleeping gown. He was sure to choose one that was in no way revealing—at all. It was round necked, dropping on the mannequin at the spot where the collarbone should have been. It ran to the floor and the sleeves were long.

He picked a few more skirts for her, thinking that she must like them. He took one pair of shoes for her, and a pair of slippers for comfort. He grabbed the finest robe from the selection, and then made his way to the jewelry.

Behind the counter, there were boxes filled with the items in the display cabinet. He went through the boxes and took one of everything he could find. There were hairpins, necklaces, earrings, hair combs, rings, and bracelets of all sorts. Each item came in a velvet box, which made his task of placing them in his bag much easier. Very carefully, he placed the boxes in their correct places and left them the way he found them.

On top of the counter, there was a gold, hand-held mirror. He took a nearby blouse and wrapped the mirror in it, placing it in his bag, which was almost full by now. He also grabbed a beautiful jewelry box that caught his eye. It was big; hopefully, it would be big enough to hold the jewelry. With that last item, he pulled the drawstrings and went towards the back door.

He locked the door the same way he unopened it and made his way to the opera house. He made his way toward the side, where there was a manhole. He lifted it and climbed down slowly into the tunnel, pulling the lid to re-cover the opening.

Slowly, but surely, he made his way back to his lair. He had been navigating the tunnels for some time now, so he was pretty sure he could make his way blindfolded.

When he reached his home, he took note that Cielle was not in sight. He silently made his way to the bedroom.

There she lay, sleeping on the red velvet lining of the bed that served as the mattress. Her red hair was spread around her. She was lying on her side, calm and unmoving. Her breath was soft and even.

Erik drew nearer to watch her sleep. She looked so peaceful. Her torn skirt allowed him to see a pair of shapely, olive-skinned legs.

He watched closely and saw that she was shivering. Erik was so used to the cold, but he realized that Cielle would need warmth. He walked to his armoire, where he kept an extra blanket for the colder seasons.

Remaining gentle, so as not to wake her, Erik lay the blanket over her. He walked over to the place where he kept his food stored. Taking a key from around his neck, he unlocked and opened a small chest. From it, he took a croissant and a muffin. He also took a silver tray from inside.

As he made his way back, he took a piece of paper and a quill. He also took one of his black ribbons and a black rose. Upon reaching the bedroom, he laid the tray on the bedside table, which had on it the pastries.

Then, Erik tied the black ribbon around the rose and placed that next to it. He also wrote her a small note.

_Cielle:_

_I did not wish to wake you. My business has been taken care of. I also ran into town and obtained a few things that I thought you would need. When you wake, I may not be here. Feel free to get more food if you are still hungry. _

_If I am not present, do not wait. I may be a while. I am usually in and out of this place anyway. I would strongly suggest not making your way into the tunnels. It is very complicated and very simple to get lost. Besides, I chose this spot for my home since it is the hardest place in this tunnel network to find._

_I also want to apologize for not being the most welcoming of hosts. Your presence here is greatly appreciated. It has been a long time since I've had company or others to talk to. And I have not shown you that I am glad to have someone to talk to. We shall talk more when we see each other next._

_Sincerely,_

_Erik_

He left the note on the tray. He laid the bag on the floor next to the bedside table in a manner that would not be in her way when she tried to get out of bed. Silently, he made his way to his organ, where he sat and began to write on his sheet music.


End file.
